


Dream Job

by CaffeinaShips



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, F/M, How Do I Tag, My First Smut, Nightmares, POV First Person, Therapy, Vaginal Sex, from hunter's journals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinaShips/pseuds/CaffeinaShips
Summary: A small town therapist is targeted by a monster. The Winchesters are here to help.  This is a case fic written as case notes and journal entries.





	1. AXIS I

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some time after Charlie is killed, but doesn't make reference to any of the Dark Side Dean story line. The dates are somewhat arbitrary and don't really follow Canon. 
> 
> This is the first fic I've written other than some crack fic for prompts. I'm nervous. Please be nice to me.

INDIVIDUAL PROGRESS NOTE

DATE: 11/10/2014  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

 

ASSESSMENT: JT is a 37 year old male who continues to struggle with complex grief related to the disappearance of his mother approx. 1 yr ago. JT was previously his mother’s caregiver as she suffered from advanced early onset dementia. JT reports sleeplessness, anxiety, nightmares, and debilitating guilt. JT also experiences anhedonia, lethargy, and persistent suicidal ideation consistent with a continued diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder.

JT appeared oriented to people, time, and place. JT presented as neatly groomed, appropriately dressed, and hygienic. JT displayed continued lethargy in speaking and movement. JT reports continued adherence to medication routine as prescribed by Psychiatrist recommended by this Clinician. 

SESSION: JT reported some benefit from medication and stated improved sleep in the past week. JT stated continuing to document mood multiple times daily and noting a small increase in reports of positive mood following application of suggested thought stopping techniques. JT reported some increased hopefulness for the future. JT continued to report concerns related to potential onset of dementia, a consistent worry following his mother’s diagnosis. JT continues to decline a referral for a complete mental status exam to test for early dementia symptoms. JT reported incremental decrease in suicidal ideation.

PLAN: JT agreed to continue to track mood and practice thought stopping techniques in order to address intrusive thoughts associated with trauma. JT will continue to practice ADLs as outlined in previous session.

 

\--------------------

 

INDIVIDUAL PROGRESS NOTE

DATE:11/17/2014  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

ASSESSMENT: JT is a 37 year old male who continues to struggle with complex grief related to the disappearance of his mother approx. 1 yr ago. JT reports sleeplessness, anxiety, nightmares, and debilitating guilt. JT also experiences anhedonia, lethargy, and persistent suicidal ideation consistent with a continued diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder.

Of note, JT arrived in disheveled clothing with a noticeable malodorous body odor. JT reported no showers, teeth brushing, hair brushing, or change of clothes in past 3 days. JT presented as agitated, and displayed fidgeting, and distractible behavior. JT reported increased distress in the last five days. JT displayed some disorientation around place and time. 

SESSION: JT arrived half an hour early for the appointment stating he “had to get out of his house”. JT reported that for the last five days he has been seeing “shadow people” in his apartment. JT reported hearing whispers he cannot understand. JT stated being convinced that these ‘shadow people’ mean him harm. JT stated that while asleep the ‘shadow people’ become menacing in his dreams. JT displayed bruising on his lower left arm above the wrist and informed this clinician that the ‘shadow people’ assaulted him in his sleep. Discussed potential triggers for onset of symptoms of paranoid thinking. Discussed upcoming anniversary of Mother’s disappearance. Discussed JT outreaching Psychiatrist to discuss possible medication side effects. JT agreed this clinician could contact Psychiatrist on JT’s behalf. 

PLAN: This clinician will contact Psychiatrist to discuss possible negative side effects of medication. Client will attend emergency therapy session tomorrow to monitor symptoms. Client will continue thought stopping techniques. Client will begin recording incidents of ‘shadow people’ appearing. 

 

\--------------------

 

INDIVIDUAL PROGRESS NOTE

DATE: 11/18/14  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

ASSESSMENT: JT is a 37 year old male who continues to struggle with complex grief related to the disappearance of his mother approx. 1 yr ago. JT reports sleeplessness, anxiety, nightmares, and debilitating guilt. JT also experiences anhedonia, lethargy, and persistent suicidal ideation consistent with a continued diagnosis of Major Depressive Disorder. JT is attending today’s session after displaying concerning paranoia and possible hallucinations in previous day’s session.

JT attended today’s session in the same clothes as yesterday. JT had multiple visible bruises on both arms. Client appeared highly fearful and showed physical indications of exhaustion.

SESSION: JT reported intense nightmares in which the ‘shadow figures’ become monsters he described as being “like onyx” that grab and drag him toward an “underworld”. JT reported in the past 24 hours he would suddenly be surrounded by “four of five” shadows that would solidify into shiny black stone statues that would grab him and begin dragging him toward what would appear to be the mouth of a cave that would manifest inside his home. JT stated he would then wake up without having been aware that he had fallen asleep. JT’s speech was disorganized and often difficult to follow. JT referred to nightmares his mother reported having before her disappearance. JT stated concern he was “on the same path” as his mother. 

PLAN: Discussed discontinuing Welbutrin per this Clinician’s conversation with Psychiatrist. Strongly encouraged JT to seek hospitalization for stabilization of symptoms. JT stated unwillingness to pursue hospitalization due to concern he would be sedated and would be “dragged under” by the monsters. Discussed value of emergency care. Discussed JT’s support network and encouraged JT to reach out to friends in order to avoid being alone. This Clinician will call JT at 5pm this evening to check on status of hallucinations. JT will return for a follow up session tomorrow 11/19/14

 

\--------------------

 

NOTE TO FILE

DATE: 11/18/14  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

NOTE: This Clinician called JT as scheduled. Phone was not answered. Left a message reminding client about tomorrow’s appointment and again advocating emergency care.

 

\--------------------

 

NOTE TO FILE

DATE: 11/19/14  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

NOTE: JT did not attend today’s scheduled appointment. Called JT and left a voicemail requesting a call back. 

 

\--------------------

 

NOTE TO FILE

DATE: 11/26/14  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

NOTE: This clinician has not heard from this client following appointment on 11/18/14. This clinician has not been contacted by any Emergency Room, or emergency care providers. This Clinician left an additional voicemail today requesting a return call.

 

\----------------------

 

NOTE TO FILE

DATE: 12/01/214  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

NOTE: This Clinician has not been in contact with client. Left an additional voicemail requesting a call back.

 

\--------------------

 

TERMINATION OF CASE

DATE: 3/16/2015  
CLIENT: Jeremy Thompson

HISTORY OF SERVICE: JT entered therapy on 1/7/14 following the loss of his mother. JT reported that he had been his mother’s primary caregiver for the past year due to progressive dementia. JT reported his mother missing in November 2013. JT reported significant self-blame due to possibly having left the door unlocked and allowing his mother to wander off. JT reported being unsure if he had been careful enough to keep her safe. JT displayed lethargy, difficulty sleeping, obsessive thoughts, suicidal ideation, social isolation, and digestive troubles following the disappearance of his mother. 

This Clinician used CBT techniques for traumatic grief to address JT’s obsessive thoughts around the reported disappearance. JT developed a sleep and self-care routine to support positive choices and health. JT began seeing a psychiatrist and began taking antidepressant medication.

JT made significant progress toward managing depressive thoughts, suicidal ideation, and poor self care between January 2014 and November 2014. JT began sleeping regularly, re-engaging with friends, and reported increased mood. 

In November 2014 JT abruptly began reporting paranoia and hallucinations related to ‘shadow people’ that he believed were menacing him. JT experienced a significant decrease in functioning within the period of a week. JT did not express a desire to harm self or others, and therefore could not be hospitalized involuntarily. JT declined emergency supports during this time.

REASON FOR TERMINATION: JT was officially declared a Missing Person on 12/05/2014. This Clinician made several attempts to outreach JT but did not receive a reply. This Clinician has not been in contact with JT for over three months, and must now close the case.

PROGNOSIS: This Clinician remains very concerned for the well-being of JT.


	2. AXIS II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An intake session for therapy.

INTAKE ASSESSMENT

DATE:11/09/2015  
CLIENT: Dean Winchester

PRESENTING PROBLEM: DW attended today’s intake session wearing clean looking, casual clothing. He appeared oriented in time and place. He presented as friendly, respectful, and cooperative.

DW stated requesting an intake with this Clinician due to this Clinician’s advertised specialties in trauma, grief, and family issues. DW stated many significant losses in the past few years, including several friends. DW noted several significant losses in the past decade including father, and friends. DW stated traumatic loss of mother at age of four. DW reported difficulty sleeping, feelings of persistent guilt, and feelings of overwhelming concern for his only remaining family member, a younger brother. DW made casual references on several occasions to alcohol use. Further information is needed to assess for a potential substance abuse disorder.

FAMILY: DW reported one younger brother with whom DW lives, works, and travels. DW reported mother died when he was four. Father died approximately a decade ago. DW reported a very militaristic and strict upbringing with father. DW reported losing several close friends. DW reported discovering a half sibling he was previously unaware of, and losing that sibling to homicide before getting to know him. DW also reported losing a father figure to homicide in the past few years. DW reported Grandfather died after a tumultuous reunion. DW reported recently losing a close friend to homicide. 

DW stated history of occasionally conflictual relationship with little brother. DW described significant parentification as father often left DW in charge of brother while out of town for extended trips. DW discussed elements of relationship with brother that at times sounded enmeshed in a way that could be unhealthy. This could be accounted for by the significant shared family trauma. Relationship with brother would need to be explored further to determine if it is healthy and serving both parties effectively. Family therapy may be advisable in the future. 

DW discussed upbringing as highly rigid and punitive. DW discussed the relationship with his father as based largely on earning father’s respect, but was notably lacking in overt expressions of love and comfort. Further information is needed to determine potential history of abuse, especially emotional, verbal, and neglect.

Of note, when this Clinician asked some clarifying questions regarding the nature of DW’s upbringing DW became flirtatious in behavior and suggested taking this Clinician out for coffee. This Clinician explained the nature of the therapeutic relationship and DW apologized and did not repeat this behavior. It is this Clinician’s opinion that DW was deflecting from a potentially insecure emotional topic.

SOCIAL: DW reported the violent deaths of many close friends through homicide and accidental death. DW reported one consistent social connection with a man named Castiel (Cas), whom DW trusts. DW described Cas as “an angel”. Cas seems to represent a trusted figure for DW and Brother. 

DW discussed other important friendships, mostly living in different parts of the country. When asked DW stated that there were “a few people” he could “call on” if he was “in a really tight spot”. DW stated that he and brother and Cas try to handle themselves so as not to have to involve others.

Of note, DW did not specify his work. DW stated “helping people out” and trying to do “what needs to be done.” It was unclear as to the nature of this job. Due to the nature of DW’s childhood (references to weapons training), close familial roles, and history of business associates being killed, this Clinician speculates that perhaps DW is involved in loan shark behavior, or a militia style group. More information is needed to determine the nature of this profession. 

When asked DW identified his hobbies and interests as old westerns, diner food, classic rock, automobiles, and porn.

Additionally, DW was participating appropriately with intake session during most of the session. Toward the end of the 1.5 hr. session this Clinician and DW heard a noise that sounded like this Clinician's waiting room door shutting. Following this DW seemed hurried and began to cut answers short, and appeared to want to end the session.

HARM TO SELF OR OTHERS: DW was vague as to the nature of his work, but due to the history of weapons training, military style background, and violent death of coworkers, violence toward others cannot be ruled out. 

Client had several visible scars and reported a history of depressive symptoms. Self-harm also cannot be ruled out. When asked directly DW reported a history of unspecified suicidal ideation, and an undefined sense of wishing to be dead, but stated that he does not feel this way currently.

CLINICAL ASSESSMENT AND DIAGNOSIS: Dean Winchester is in his mid to late thirties. Dean presents as thoughtful, sarcastic, and of above average intelligence. He displays some signs of low self-esteem. Dean made allusions to a potential alcohol abuse disorder. Dean reported sleeplessness, anxiety, hypervigilance, and restlessness. Dean reported guilt related to past losses. He reported struggling with intrusive thoughts that remind him of past traumas. He stated feeling unable to imagine himself growing old. These symptoms support a diagnosis of Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. Dean reported a history of symptoms of depression. Further information is needed to Rule Out a potential Depressive Disorder. Further information is needed to Rule Out a substance abuse disorder. 

PLAN: This Clinician advised DW to begin therapy on a weekly basis to address difficult memories associated with past trauma. DW agreed to schedule appointment for 11/16/2015. 

 

\--------------------

 

NOTE TO RECORD

DATE: 11/09/2015

NOTE: During an intake session today this Clinician heard the sound of her office door being shut. After the end of the session this Clinician went to the adjacent office where this Clinician keeps her computer in a locked room. This Clinician found that her computer had been turned off instead of put to sleep as this Clinician usually leaves it.

The door to the records office in which the computer is housed was locked, and the computer is password protected. It is likely this Clinician simply shut off her computer instead of putting it in sleep mode. A break in, or a breach of this Clinician’s medical records cannot be ruled out. This note will be made available to the Board of Mental Health in compliance with HIPAA standards.


	3. AXIS III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a coffee fetish, YOU have a coffee fetish!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the text switches from medical records to Hunter's Journal.

HUNTER’S JOURNAL

11/16/2015

Today I bought a notebook. Partly I’ve been really struggling with going from a decade of being mandated to document my daily activities as part of a medical record to now having done so much with no place to write it down. Partly I’m still a little pissed that Sam and Dean stole my client’s medical file and added it to their Hunter’s Journal. Despite being pretty sure I’ll never be a therapist again that ethical violation still irritates me. I feel inspired to keep my own journal of events to have some say in what ends up ‘on the record’. 

So today when we stopped at a CVS pharmacy while Sam and Dean bought a concerning amount of gauze, medical tape, neosporin, and rubbing alcohol, I wandered off and found the best notebook the stationary section had to offer. I also stuck the paper copy of my intake with Dean in it. If he’s so comfortable violating the medical privacy of others it shouldn’t be a problem if I violate his. 

Besides, my understanding of a hunter’s journal is that it is meant to document monster encounters for future reference, and in some cases the future reference of other hunters. As we currently have no idea what we are hunting (or more accurately what is hunting me) it seems like having an accurate record of my experience may actually benefit the next poor son of a bitch who has to deal with this thing. Calling it a Hunter’s Journal may be a bit grandiose, but how is a person supposed to learn there is a world full of monsters and then go back to their desk job? That’s absurd. I don’t know what I am now, or what I will do, but I know for sure I’m not a therapist. So for now I'm calling myself a hunter.

Last week I was a therapist. One week ago I had an intake with this pain in the ass psycho. Now he and his somewhat more mild mannered, but equally psycho beanstalk giant brother are trying to save my life. I was supposed to have a follow-up appointment with Dean today. I’m somewhat gratified to learn that I was absolutely correct in predicting a drinking problem. I was way off base about his job.

One week ago I had a long day at work and left feeling stressed and frustrated. I attempted to let go of some of that stress by taking a long walk in the woods behind the little home I’ve been renting for years. The kind of self-care us therapy types are always talking about. Prior to last week I thought one of the perks of living rurally was near constant access to nature. I chose a relatively simple walk of just a couple of miles that I take at least once a week. The path is obviously very familiar to me. 

Maybe a mile into my walk I noticed a mound in the earth that looked to be around 10 feet tall. Big rocky piles of dirt and stone don’t traditionally appear randomly along this path. There were trees growing from it, and it appeared to be undisturbed earth. It looked like it had always been there, though I could tell you for sure it had not. It took me a full second of standing and staring at it to realize that there was an opening in the pile. The mouth of a cave. Or perhaps the opening appeared while I stared. I’m fuzzy on these details. I remember there were poppies growing around the entry, and a sweet perfumed smell coming from it. It smelled smoke and flowers. I remember it sounded as if there was a whispering from inside the cave, as if something deep under the earth wanted me to join it. I don’t recall walking, but I do recall moving closer to it. 

The next thing I recall is being body slammed by a 7 foot collection of limbs onto some nearby stumps and rocks. I know the appropriate response here is gratitude at being saved from heading straight into the lair of God knows what, but my left butt cheek is badly bruised and I think I tore something in my shoulder. These Winchesters are not big on grace. 

Again, I know the proper response is gratitude, but it seems that my PTSD and early childhood trauma intake from that morning followed me home. And not just followed me home, but enlisted his (yes enmeshed) brother to accompany him. It seems that after stealing my case notes they decided I might have some lead (or was a suspect? I’m not clear on that) into the disappearance of my former client, and his mother, and several others. One person a year specifically, always on November 20. While tailing me on my theoretically restful walk they happened to view me drifting trance-like toward a hole that swelled and opened in the ground. Sam (the 7ft mass of limbs and L’Oreal hair) acted on instinct, charged at me, and flung me as far backwards and away from the hole in the ground as he could. Dean followed close behind, and tells me that after checking on us he turned and the cave was gone. Here I will add an important PSA. Never startle a moose in the wild. They will charge and trample you into the ground. 

After my initial “What the hell are you doing here!” reaction we went back to my house where The Brother’s drank all of my beer and told me monsters are real. I learned that every now and then the things that go bump in the night actually do eat people, and that “Hunters” exist to discover and kill these things, and that Dean had an intake with me to distract me while Sam hacked my computer and stole my likely deceased client’s medical record. They were very patient, and kind. They were also a little amused by my indigence. 

While grappling with the information that a client I very much cared about, had known through the worst time of his life, and had seen develop and improve had likely been consumed by some kind of monstrous beast I teared up a little. At this point Dean put down his beer and offered me a flask of whiskey. I admit I drank half. I had the thought at the time (and continue to think) THESE are the people who have taken up the mantle of saviors and heroes??? LIVES are in THEIR hands??? 

It was at this point that Sam explained to me that a few historical records exist in which people reported to friends or family seeing monsters of black stone, and seeing caves where there were none. Historically these people have become the victims. That it is very likely that my run in with this cave marks me for victimhood. MY life is in their hands. The beer and flask combo seemed much less amusing after that.

It seemed their best guess was that whatever we are dealing with does not finish victims off until 11/20, so we have some time. It appears to infiltrate dreams so Sam and Dean pulled my bed away from the wall and poured a circle of salt around my bed. They left me their phone number and told me they would check in tomorrow. They needed to do “research”. It did not work. My sleep was normal enough except throughout my dreams I kept catching glimpses of a moving shadow out of the corner of my eye. I would have thought nothing of it, called it a weird night’s sleep, but unfortunately now I knew better. 

I called them the next day to let them know about my dreams. They decided to try iron which meant a weird combination of pokers, knives, some chain, and a frying pan all touching each other circled around my bed. To their surprise and my total lack of surprise it worked not at all. My dreams were full of shadows again.

The next day I decided to join them in their research. I called Dean and asked where they were. He refused to tell me. He told me to take care of myself and let them be the professionals. This town isn’t very big and it took me a total of 2 phone calls to verify they were hanging around the town library at the table in the back. According to my librarian friend they were looking at every weird old book the place had to offer. 

When I showed up Dean was adamant about refusing my help. He insisted they could manage. He insisted I wouldn’t know what I was doing. He insisted I didn’t need to start doing any research. I should just go about my normal life and not think about hunting and let them take care of it. Sam was more practical. He accepted I wasn’t about to leave and set me up with a small stack of historical town records and put me to work looking for any references to disappearances, caves, or other clues. Sam searched electronic records, and Dean seemed to go through a random assortment of books that I very much hope made sense to them. 

And fidget. If Dean were going to be a continuing client of mine, or if I had to study near him regularly I would encourage a prescription for Adderall. The man does not excel at sitting still quietly. He tapped his pencil, squirmed in his chair, and I think a couple of times he tried to argue with me about going home just to have something to do. On the plus side he went out twice to buy us coffee just for the excuse to walk.

We read all day and we found one other disappearance that fit the pattern, but no additional information. That night they circled my bed with foxglove flowers. The following day we spent all day at the library again. At night they ringed my bed with something called “goofer dust”. 

The following day they discovered a record that could have been of a witch. We spent the rest of the day looking into her history before the Brothers Winchester decided to dig up her grave and salt and burn her anyway. They discussed this as one might discuss whether to get an extra order of egg rolls ‘just in case’. I tried to suggest that I could come and help, but it sounded insincere even to my ears. When they declined my offer I didn’t argue. 

They gave me a small acrid smelling bag to sleep with called a hex bag. Before I could inquire Dean told me not to ask what was inside. I deferred to his judgement this once. 

Unfortunately the Witch was just a maligned villager from the days when you could still get out of an adultery charge by claiming your mistress was a witch. My dreams remained the same.

By this point we had exhausted the library and switched to internet searches. I brought my laptop to their room in the seediest motel in town and they gave me some tips on effective searching and websites to peruse. We spent all day eating pizza and googling. Dean continues to occasionally grumble about my helping, but it’s obvious that he doesn’t want anyone else to get involved in hunting. He seems invested in saving me so I can have whatever passes for a normal life. I laugh at him now. A normal life is getting a parking ticket. It is not having your client eaten by monsters who then target you. Normal is not on the menu. Apparently clients are though. 

I stayed so late that I ended up sleeping in one of the two beds, and the brothers shared the other bed. It is very motivating to work late when you know your life is on the line, and I appreciated not having to spend another night alone with my impending doom. I will admit here (but not to them) that I feel safer when they are around. We didn’t even circle the beds with anything weird, we just slept. 

Yesterday I pointed out that we could google as well from my place and that I have a guest room. Shockingly they agreed and transported their laptops and alcohol to my little house in the woods. We spent all day in the living room googling and eating pizza. We learned nothing about the case, but I did learn that Dean makes a perfect cup of coffee every time. 

This morning the Winchesters decided there were no answers to be found in our town. They decided to go to something ominously named “the bunker” for answers. They tried to leave me here. They’d be back, they said. I’m not really in danger for at least a few days, they said. Really it would be quicker if I stayed, they said. There was no way I was going to sit in that house by myself with nothing to do to help myself, and all the time in the world to think about how I was doomed. I said nothing, packed a bag, sat in the back seat of their Impala and waited for them to join me. 

Aside from a stop for gas, and the concerning stop at the CVS we’ve been driving for 4 hours, and we have probably 10 more to go. I don’t know what a bunker is, or how it will help, but any company is better than only my own company. These two corpse burning nutcases are the only people in the world who know what I’m going through. This ridiculous classic car is pretty comfortable, minus my bruised ass, and I always did like road trips. 

I find it hard to believe that the answers we are looking for will be found. I don’t have much optimism for my future overall. The annoying thing is, aside from this sense of impending doom, and a creeping hopeless sense of horror, I’m having fun. Poking through their Hunter’s Journal (while Dean hovered over me like an overly anxious parent watching a klutz hold their newborn, and Sam tried to pretend he wasn’t watching me at all) was so enlightening. It’s terrible to think these are real people, and real tragedies, and real monsters, but I’ve always been someone who would rather know. I’ve learned so much about the world. If I could I would sit for hours and read it from cover to cover. 

These Winchesters aren’t terrible company either. Their relationship is… quirky, and they most definitely have their problems, but in reality I am grateful to them for the time and energy they’ve devoted to trying to save my life. They are both kinder to me and more patient with me than they have to be. They don’t have the kind of stake in this fight that I do. They could take more breaks, they could sleep in, but they don’t. The work diligently (if restlessly, in Dean’s case) just to save my life. Despite my insistence on helping I recognize that I don’t know what I’m doing and I probably am slowing them up somewhat. They don’t have to do this. They don’t have to do any of this, but they seem driven to save people where they can and I admire that.


	4. AXIS IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter the OC begins to keep two journals. I'm hoping the switching back and forth between the two doesn't make it too hard to follow the timeline. 
> 
> Also, there's a little smut in this chapter.

PERSONAL JOURNAL

11/17

I bought another journal because writing keeps me busy and keeps me from focusing on my impending doom, but I would prefer not to have my more personal thoughts and feelings recorded in a journal I’m leaving for the next Hunters who take on my monster. This one will be just for me. I also need a way to process my new life, short though it may be. It seems that while I was distracted by monsters and approaching death I may have developed some feelings I would like to think through. 

I like these Winchester characters. I didn’t expect to. They have a lot of qualities I generally find off-putting. They have this hyper masculine job based on violence. They drink too much. They have hero complexes. They have terrible boundaries with each other. I’m pretty sure they think psychological self-care is a waste of time. These are all things I generally find eye-roll inducing. These two manage to make it work for them though. They’re endearing. Maybe it’s just the comrades in arms thing, but I find myself feeling fond of them.

I think part of it is the way they never treat me like a damsel in distress. It’s clear Dean thinks I’d be better off staying away from hunters, hunting, and monsters, but given the number of hunter friends he’s lost I can understand why. Still, he respects my right to participate in my own self-protection. Even when talking about topics way out of my league they have never once spoken to me as if I were stupid. They have never treated me as if I were frail, or weak. They also don’t treat me like someone they expect to see die soon, which is reassuring. 

It turns out I like research, I like learning about monsters, and I like the Winchesters. I’m starting to wonder if, on the off chance I survive, hunting might be for me. My life has taken a rather sharp turn away from the normal in the last week or so and I’m struggling to keep up, but it’s nice to see a potential future path for me on the other side. 

We drove all day and ended up stopping a few hours from our destination for a short night in a seedy motel. I had harbored a little hope that being so far from home would discourage my dream shadows, but no such luck. For the first time I could see them solidify into men a little taller than Sam and made of shiny black stone. I could hear them whispering to me. I understood how my client could have known they were coming for him even without understanding the words.

After breakfast we hit the road again, and arrived at the bunker a little before lunchtime today. I love the bunker. It is the most strangely beautiful home I’ve ever seen. The staircases and railings are elegant, and the tables and chairs are so rich. The weird dormitory bedrooms, and strangely industrial kitchen somehow make it feel even more inviting. It feels as if this place were meant to be lived in by anyone who has a serious job to do. Even the existence of what appears to be a torture dungeon makes it feel secure rather than threatening. It sounds weird, but in some strange way I think the bunker likes me too. I can’t put my finger on it, but I feel like it’s making room for me. Or sleep deprivation is making me nutty.

The Brother’s gave me a tour ending in the library. The library is amazing. After five minutes of gazing at the selection and reading titles I lost a significant chunk of my fear. I can’t believe there is any question unanswered by these books. I feel some hope again. The Winchester’s have selected for me an empty dormitory room to be my guest room, and Dean is making grilled cheese sandwiches. I’m learning that Dean is unexpectedly domestic. He seems to enjoy cooking, and taking care of people. My therapist mind says this is the parentification manifesting. My monster hunted self just appreciates it. After lunch we’re going to begin research again. I’m genuinely excited. It’s such a relief to feel something other than fear about my future.

 

\----------

 

The day is over and we don’t have our answer yet. I learned a great many things about monsters, and demons, and all things scary, but not about the thing I need to find. Despite that it was a good day and I continue to feel hopeful. The Winchesters have shown so much dedication to my case. They’ve done nothing but work on it, eat, and occasionally sleep, since Sam tackled me in the woods. It’s hard not to feel warmth toward them when they work so tirelessly for no other reason than to save my life and get the bad guy. They’re endearing in their earnestness. 

They are both being kind and reassuring to me in their own ways. Now that he knows I like it Dean is going out of his way to make me coffee. I’m jittery and my heart is racing, but I will continue to accept every cup he offers. I’ve come to recognize a lot of his grumbling and teasing is actually concern. Sam is more direct. He has been asking me how I’m doing every couple hours all day, and genuinely seems to want to know. He patiently answers all of of my questions about monsters and hunting no matter how off topic. They seem to honestly care about my well-being, and yet they’ve known me less than two weeks. 

I’m not sure it’s just the coffee making my heart race either. Dean makes me laugh. He’s been teasing me about analysing the monster when we meet it. Will I ask it about its family of origin? Will I blame its mother? Will I diagnose it with a personality disorder? Will I try to access its underlying insecurities? He brings me coffee and calls me ‘doctor’, even though he knows the difference between a therapist, and a psychologist. He just likes how I roll my eyes when he asks me if monsters can develop neurosis. (A good question, by the way. One he could probably answer better than I can.) I’ve laughed more today than I have in weeks.When he takes my cup for a refill, or passes me a new book we make eye contact, he smiles, and I get a little flutter in my stomach. I can’t help but smile back, and make some joke about how he’d be a good subject for a thesis, that I’m going to re-write his intake to include a monster obsession. I may be dying soon, but apparently I’m not above flirting.

Tonight at the end of the night we all went our separate ways. We packed up our books and headed to our rooms, finally crashing for a few hours of sleep. Trying to get to my room I opened the wrong door. I don’t know HOW I opened the wrong door. My door is second on the right. SECOND. You’d think I’d be able to count two doors. Instead I opened Dean’s door. He was standing next to his bed, his back to me, taking his shirt off. I quickly and quietly shut the door and I don’t think he was aware I was there, but I cannot get the image of his bare back out of my mind. It’s so silly, a back is hardly a sexual body part. I’m an adult woman, not the type to get silly over a little glimpse of shirtless man. 

It’s not as if I didn’t notice he was attractive when he walked into my office. I noticed the way his green eyes crinkled when he smiled. I noticed the freckles, the muscles. I noticed these things way I noticed he seemed nervous, and the way I noticed he listed all the people he lost casually, but avoided talking about any of them individually. I noticed the way I noticed the tense muscles in his jaw relaxed a little when discussing Castiel. I noticed clinically, impartially, impersonally. I assessed attractiveness objectively. 

I think the glimpse of exposed skin and muscle and scars made it click for me that he is a real person that I am connecting with. I’ve been so busy trying to save my life that I missed it when I stopped thinking of him as a client, and started to appreciate him more personally. Suddenly I’m assessing attractiveness very personally. His body, that smile, those green eyes. That sense of humor, that kindness. Now I kind of wish I could stop thinking of him personally. I do still have my ass to save, and I don’t want to be this fully distracted by thoughts of Dean pulling his shirt off over his head. Though I doI wish I could dream about shirtless Dean instead of shadows.

 

HUNTER’S JOURNAL

11/18/15

We have found it. We believe we are hunting a God. Phobetor, the God of nightmares. 

I slept very well last night. I think I had underestimated how much being stalked by shadows has been impacting my rest. Last night I hardly saw or felt them. I think the bunker was stifling them somehow. I’m sure they would still manage to break through by the 20th, but I’m still very grateful to the bunker for giving me a reprieve. 

We woke up early. Sam and I began researching again while Dean made us breakfast. After eggs and coffee we all dug into the books. After just a couple of hours Sam dug up the relevant information we needed. Phobetor, ancient Greek, associated with the poppy, and with caves. He torments people in their dreams. He is literally the stuff of nightmares. They found some ancient references to offerings made to Phobetor to protect people from sleepwalking and night terrors. We believe in lieu of these offerings Phobetor has been taking his own sacrifices, possibly for centuries. 

The tools we need to fight Phobetor are grim but attainable. We need a gold knife dipped in fresh rooster blood and held up to the sun. Essentially we need to get a knife imbued with the blessing of Helios, God of the Sun, and enemy of Phobetor. The Winchesters believe there is at least one gold knife in the Bunker weapons locker. The bunker really is amazing. Unfortunately we are unlikely to find a rooster here. At least luck is on our side in that it seems to be a sunny day. 

The plan at the moment is to raid the Bunker for gold knives, bring some lore to bone up on and hit the road as soon as possible. We need to get back and prepare for battle before nightfall on the 20th. We could fight this thing anywhere, but it seems like the best plan to return to my house. At least they already have the bait they need. I’m not really looking forward to fighting a God, but I am hopeful that one way or the other this will be over soon.

 

PERSONAL JOURNAL

11/18/15

Leaving the bunker has proven to be horrific. What a difference a day makes. We found two gold knives in the bunker. The brothers packed up their trunk, and minus a quick stealthy stop at a local farm to ‘bless’ our knives we were on our way. About 10 minutes into the ride I started to see the dark shapes out of the corner of my eye. For a while I could clearly see one of the shadow men running beside the car, keeping pace with us. There has been one of them in my visual range this whole trip.

After a few hours of travel one of them appeared in the car with me and sat next to me in the empty seat behind the driver. It solidified into the stone man. It was reflectively black, and the top of its head grazed the ceiling of the Impala. It turned its head to look at me and its eyes glowed deep red, like magma reflected down a long tunnel. It opened its mouth wider than is possible, and it’s black teeth and mouth appeared like the mouth of a cave. The horror I felt was indescribable. I felt as though I was falling forward into that mouth. 

Suddenly I jerked awake. Apparently I fell asleep in the back seat. It felt seamless to me. I was unaware of even being tired. When I jumped awake the boys jumped too. Dean swerved the car a little, and pulled over. I must have looked pretty shaken because they both looked alarmed. 

“Keep driving” I advised. 

“Are you alright?” Sam asked. 

“No. Of course not. I’m going to be eaten by a Nightmare God. But the only way this gets better is if we get there and kill this thing. So keep driving.”

Dean looked as if he wanted to argue, but he turned around and kept driving. I admit that I watched him clench his jaw, and saw the tension in his shoulders and remembered the muscles of his back and arms again. It’s much more pleasant to imagine Dean even more unclothed than to focus on my pursuing monsters. Daydreaming about Dean has become my favorite distraction.

We have stopped at a motel for the necessary few hours of sleep. I am absolutely dreading falling asleep. I’m sure my dreams will be filled with terror. Fear and a sense of losing my grip on reality have made me brave and stupid. I refused my own hotel room. The idea of lying in that strange room by myself was too much. The Winchesters agreed to share a double bed and let me have the other. 

I layed down immediately, not with the thought to sleep, but simply to rest. I rolled over and faced the empty half of the bed, but the bed was not empty. The stone man lay next to me, staring at me. I jumped and screamed. I hate that I screamed. I don’t want to be someone who screams. I put aside my complicated feelings on the issue and asked if Dean would share the bed with me. I told them I thought Dean would take up less room in the bed than Sam. That’s true, but most definitely not entirely true. 

As I write this the brothers are enjoying their nightly ritual of drinking too much, having also acquired a pizza. I’m sitting in a somewhat sticky motel chair, and there is a man made of stone with eyes of magma sitting in the other chair. He is unmoving, simply staring. Sam is reading the lore a little bit more before bed, and Dean is flipping channels. I’m choosing to focus on Dean removing his boots and unbuttoning his plaid shirt. It is far more pleasant to pay attention to Dean in a tee shirt than to stare into the eyes of death while I try to eat my Dominos meat lovers pizza.

 

HUNTER’S JOURNAL

11/19/15

We are back on the road again. Last night was far from restful. I regret insisting on sharing a room with the Winchesters as I’m sure it undermined their sleep as well. I woke up no less than four times jerking awake from a nightmare, and I saw the stone men constantly during my sleep. I see them now still, gliding along beside the car, or in the seat next to me. I have had at least one incident this morning in which I assumed I was awake, was confronted by a stone man, and jerked awake. I feel already as if my ability to tell dream from reality has been eroded. I’m trying to downplay this information to the Winchester’s somewhat because I’m unsure it would benefit them to know. Also I would hate it if they began to treat me like I am confused. Even if I am.

The plan is to arrive at my house some time around noon. We will unpack, inventory our gold supply, maybe steal another rooster if we want to be safe, and then get as much out of the lore as possible. Tonight will be miserable, and then tomorrow we will fight. 

 

PERSONAL JOURNAL

11/19/15

After last night I’m hoping to hold on to what little dignity I have left. Dean and I settled to sleep with a respectful gap between us. We both retained the majority of our clothes. I took my bra off and wore my jeans and tee shirt to bed. Dean stayed in his tee and jeans. From my perspective I was laying still on the bed for a mere couple of minutes before a shadow man oozed out from under the bed like oil and solidified in front of me. He bent down to look me in the eye and reached out quickly to grab me by the throat. I jumped and flailed, which caused Dean to jump and flail and pull a knife out of… somewhere before realizing it was a night terror. I apologized to both Winchesters and tried to settle down, hold still, and stay awake. I hoped if I didn’t sleep I wouldn’t be jump scared by a bunch of dickish statues. Twice more I was attacked in my sleep, and twice more I jumped awake scaring both Winchesters. It was barely three hours into our night and I had already managed to keep everyone on edge. 

After the third jump I was determined to stay awake. I stared hard at the digital clock on the nightstand. I stubbornly ignored the statue man standing quietly at the foot of the bed. Dean fell asleep again almost immediately. After only a few minutes Dean rolled over and dropped his arm over me. I froze for a moment stuck in indecision before sliding closer to him. I pressed my back against his torso and took comfort in the feeling of his breathing. He tightened his arm around my ribcage. I could feel the stubble where his chin rested on the top of my head. He hadn’t made much time for shaving during this job. I was overcome with gratitude in that moment and snuggled in even closer, fitting my whole body against his. I draped my arm over his and took his hand. He felt warm and human against my body, an antidote to the cold stone of the monsters.

Dean’s body tensed and his breathing turned shallow. He was holding himself very still. I had a moment of guilt for waking him up, and a moment in which I was sure I should move away from him. It felt wrong to be enjoying his body like this while he had been sleeping. But then I saw the statue man still standing at the foot of the bed. To hell with it. It wasn’t like I had much life left to mess up. 

I pushed my ass against the front of his jeans and moved the hand I was holding under my shirt and onto my stomach. I felt him inhale, and felt a definite movement in his jeans. I pushed back harder, and he ground back against me. I moved his hand under my shirt to cup my breast. I knew I was being foolish, but I couldn’t deny my attraction to Dean, and I could use some human comforts. The feeling of his hand against my breast caused me to shudder a little with desire. 

Already breathing harder Dean gently squeezed my breast before moving his hand away. He rested his forehead on the top of my head and whispered

“I don’t want to take advantage of your fear.”

So gentlemanly. So unnecessary. With as little movement as possible for Sam’s sake I pulled my shirt off and tossed it on the floor. Rolling to face him I pressed my now bare chest against his tee shirt and brushed a kiss to his neck under his ear. 

“What would you want to do if you could be dead in 48 hours?”

I gently pushed him onto his back and he relented. I kissed his neck again, down to his shoulder blade. He ran a hand up my back and into my hair, pulling me toward him for a kiss. 

Laying on top of him now I was frustrated by the overabundance of clothes preventing the contact I desired. I pulled out of the kiss to tug on his shirt and he allowed me to tug it off of him. I had only a moment to wonder about the myriad scars before being pulled back down for another kiss. 

Mindlessly I tugged at the button on his jeans. Logic was beyond me, and I was desperate to get closer to his body. We separated enough for me to get the button undone. We were both breathing so loudly I couldn’t believe we hadn’t woken Sam. Dean reciprocated by unbuttoning my jeans. Impatiently I pulled my pants and underwear off and dropped them beside the bed. Now completely naked I decided I didn’t care about waking Sam up and straddled Dean. All I wanted was to feel Dean inside me as soon as I could. Dean held my hips while I slowly unzipped his jeans.

His grip on my hip bones began to hurt. I tried to move back a little but his grip was too tight. I glanced at where he was holding me and was horrified to see even in the dim light that his hands were made of onyx. Black rock traveled up Dean’s arm spreading from where he touched me across his entire body. I looked into his eyes but they glowed magma red at me from out of a stone face I would recognize anywhere. The statue opened its cave mouth and I felt the now familiar feeling of falling toward it. Fully naked I was tumbling toward oblivion. I pushed against its tight stone grip as hard as I could. 

I woke up screaming and practically falling out of bed. I caught on just in time to stop myself from rolling onto the floor. Dean jumped out of bed and Sam sat abruptly upright. The three of us were now fully awake and fully clothed. A dream. The entire event had been a dream. Dean and I had been sleeping soundly back to back. Not even the spooning had been real. It was the closest I have come to crying. I apologized to the brothers again, got up and chugged a beer, and went back to sleep. The monsters let me sleep the last couple hours undisturbed, though they kept watch over my dreams as always.

I should have slept alone. Now everyone is tired, and I’m more distracted than ever. We are going to make one hell of a fighting force tomorrow. Tonight I will definitely sleep alone.


	5. AXIS V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conclusion of our adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? Coffee Fetish? What? I don't know what you mean? 
> 
> This is the last chapter of my first ever completed fic.

HUNTER’S JOURNAL

11/20/15

I am completely useless. It is a terrible feeling. 

I believe it is afternoon on my last day. I am now essentially unable to tell reality from dream, and move between the two constantly. I have yet to dream while writing so I am hopeful using my journals will help me stay grounded for a few minutes. 

I am covered in bruises from my various dream encounters with the statues. Most notably I have faint fingerprint bruising around my throat, vivid bruising along both arms, and some painful bruises on both hips. I notice the hip bruises the most.

Sam was able to acquire a gold letter opener from a local antique shop yesterday and has ‘blessed’ it. They are hopeful it will work as well as a knife, but unsure. My understanding is that in a few hours when the sun sets a cave should open near my location and Phobetor himself should emerge to drag me to the underworld. I think the plan is to wait until he shows up and then stab him. I’m not super clear if there is more to the plan because as the Winchesters were discussing it I was suddenly surrounded by four statue men who grabbed my arms and began dragging me away. The Winchesters stood calmly by as I screamed and fought. Of course then I woke up. Ultimately I told them to just make sure I had the letter opener and ignore me. I sincerely hope there is more to the plan. 

I have been in and out of reality since late last night. I have conversations that don’t happen, fights that don’t happen, and attacks the Winchesters can’t see but that leave me bruised and shaken. I can no longer interact with the Winchesters without being almost immediately assaulted by statues. Without being able to enjoy their company my only comfort is the feeling of the letter opener in my pocket.

 

PERSONAL JOURNAL

11/20/15

We arrived back at my home around noon yesterday as planned. The ride home was arduous. Twice statue men appeared and attempted to drag me out of the car window before I woke up screaming. The Winchesters hardly flinched. Unlike me they can see when I have fallen asleep and have now come to expect a jump scare soon after. 

I was surprised how little ‘home’ felt like home to me already. The woods I used to love looked ominous, and the stuff in my house looked strange and unfamiliar. I immediately felt very disconnected from the calm, serene, therapist I had been before being monster bait. Of course the statue men followed me inside and added to the unsafe strangeness of my home. 

Dean and Sam were unloading books that I knew I would be useless at reading. I was (and am) exhausted. I decided since I had another day in which I knew I wouldn’t get eaten I would head up to my room and attempt a nap. I told Dean and Sam to give me a couple of hours to rest. I told them if they heard any shrieking or thuds that sounded like me falling out of bed not to bother to check on me. They didn’t laugh. I wasn’t joking. 

The nap was exactly as I expected, and after a couple of painful encounters with the stone men I gave up. I felt even less connected to reality than I did before I attempted sleep. I think these things tenderize you through sleep deprivation and mental confusion until you lose your grip on the conscious world and become unstuck from the world of the living. 

After an amount of time I found impossible to judge I gave up and headed back downstairs. I found Dean sitting in the kitchen. His boots and overshirt were piled under the table next to the chair he was sitting on, reading an old looking text. His plain black tee shirt reminded me of my dream from last night.

“Where’s Sam?” 

I stood in the doorway uncertainly. What could I do with myself when I couldn’t accomplish anything? 

Dean stood up. He put his book down on the stack of books on the table and pulled out a chair at the table for me. 

“He’s out checking pawn shops and antique shops for anything gold. He left a couple of minutes ago.”

I dropped heavily into the chair. Dean patted my shoulder sympathetically on his way past me to the counter. A minute later he returned with one of his perfect cups of coffee. I sipped it feeling very grateful. It was just the right amount of dark, the perfect drinking temperature, and just the right amount of cream. It may have been the best cup yet,and I told him so. He grinned and shrugged.

“It’s the least I can do for you while you wait to be monster bait.” 

His grin turned mischievous and playful.

“Anything else I can offer you on this your last night on earth?”

It was early afternoon. The sun was shining brightly. It wasn’t the ‘night’ of anything. I took another sip of my coffee and considered his question. 

Damnit, I’m dreaming again. Dean here wearing only one layer of shirt, practically naked for a Winchester. Sam conveniently gone for what would take at least an hour. This clear opening for a proposition was the final puzzle piece. These damn omnipresent statue assholes were messing with me again.

Once again I decided not to care. In this dream no one was strangling me. I had very little time left and I decided that if my dreams were going to give me this opportunity I was going to take it, even knowing it wasn’t real. 

I took one last big swallow of my perfect coffee and put it down on the table. In two steps I crossed the distance between us, straddled him on his kitchen chair, put my hands on the rough stubble of his jaw and kissed him. I pulled back to look at him, but kept my hands on the sides of his face. The humanity of warmth and scratchy skin was intoxicating after so many encounters with the smooth hard rock. I wanted more skin, more contact, with an almost overwhelming need. Dean looked incredibly surprised. 

“I don’t want…”

I cut him off

“To take advantage of my fear. I know. I don’t care. I may die tomorrow. Or maybe I’ll live, but I want one more chance at good sex. I really doubt I’ll regret it if I live, and if I do regret it I know I will regret it less than if I died without taking the chance when I had it. Besides…”

I slid my hand to the back of his head, pulling his hair gently, and kissed him again. Hesitantly he put his hands on my hips, sending a little thrill of pain from my bruises. I rocked my hips into his hands and gasped a little.

“You are an incredibly attractive man.” 

That seemed to convince him. He used his grip on my hips to pull me closer to him. I could feel his arousal through his jeans. He reached a hand into my hair and pulled me in for another kiss. I reveled in the softness of his lips, and the scratch of stubble. The feel of our lips, the feel of his tongue against mine, it felt very alive. 

His hands moved from my hips to my waist, sliding under my shirt. His hands were rough with callouses from grave digging and weapons making. At the feel of of them I moaned a little. He seemed to take that as an invitation and slid them up my ribs and lifted my shirt up and off.

“I’ve thought about this.” He admitted, smirking a little, running his hands along my back and to the clasp of my bra. “Remember the first time I met you I asked you out for coffee. You were hotter than I expected a grief counselor to be.” I remembered. The memory of Dean as a client gave me a tiny pang of guilt, and an added feeling of forbiddenness. I was somehow even more turned on. I would probably have felt weird about that if I were awake. 

He unhooked my bra, slid it off, and dropped it with my shirt. I watched him admire my breasts for a second before cupping one in his hand and kissing the crook of my neck. I wondered briefly if I would have felt shy or self-conscious if I was awake and not dreaming. 

“I remember” I half gasped. “If I’d known your coffee was this good I would have cancelled the intake and left with you.”

He laughed. I pulled up the hem of his tee shirt and he let me tug it off of him. I took the chance to run a hand up his chest. I wanted to touch every part of him. He moved his hand to my breast again and began kissing down my chest. I braced myself with a hand on his knee, leaned back and arched my chest upward. He kissed my breasts hungrily, and exhaled a small groan. He bit and sucked my nipple and I moaned loudly. God, I wanted him.

In one quick unexpected move Dean lifted me up, my legs still wrapped around him, shoved a stack of books out of his way, and sat me on the table. He picked me up so easily. I marveled at how strong he was. He kissed me hard and I lost my breath. I felt him grasp at the button on my pants and I wrapped my arms around his neck to lift myself enough to allow him to slide them off of me. I pulled at his pants and managed to get them down. I wrapped my legs around him again and pressed myself against him hard. Through our underwear I felt his cock, hard and ready, and ground myself against him. I was absolutely coming undone. I was finally losing my mind in a way that felt so good, and I couldn’t get enough. I slid my hand into his underwear and gripped his ass. He rested his forehead against mine.

“Are you sure?”

Are you kidding me? I couldn’t remember ever being so turned on, or wanting anyone so badly. All the panic, all the endless harassment had melted away and all I was left with was a desperate, irresistible need to fuck Dean Winchester. I tore my underwear off and dragged his underwear down and grabbed his cock roughly. 

“Dean! God. Yes. Fuck me! Please!”

He groaned loudly, crushed my body against his and thrust into me. I clung to to him and dug my nails into his back. He thrust again and I grabbed his hair roughly and bit his lip. He quickly found his rhythm, and buried his face in my neck, kissing and nipping little bites from my earlobes to my shoulders. His stubble scratched my skin. It was exactly what I had hoped for, passionate and rough. He squeezed my thighs and breasts, leaving new little bruises. I twisted my fingers into his hair, and left scratches on his back. 

He braced himself on the table and I heard my coffee cup hit the floor. I had a brief moment of wonder when the monsters would wake me up, but Dean’s cock felt amazing and I couldn’t hold any thought at all. His pace increased and it pushed me over the edge. Crying out loudly enough for the whole woods and Phobetor in his cave to hear, both hands buried in Dean’s hair, my body shook with orgasm. 

As my body started to relax I felt Dean’s tense. He gripped me tightly, thrust in deeply, and groaned loudly as he came into me. I felt him shiver and held on to him. We held each other for a moment panting. When he pulled away from me and took a little step back I felt wobbly and giddy. He ran his hands through his disheveled hair and grinned. He looked more relaxed than I’d ever seen him. He looked around the room at the books on the floor, the spilled coffee, and the piles of clothes.

“We made a hell of a mess of your kitchen. I am a terrible house guest.”

Too tired for a witty retort I just shook my head and smiled dopily. 

He reached for his pile of clothes. Sliding off the table onto weak legs I went to retrieve the coffee cup. I bent over and picked it up. Standing back up I found myself staring directly at a statue man. He grabbed me by the throat and squeezed. I dropped the coffee cup and stumbled backward. I woke up when Dean caught me. If he hadn’t been so quick I likely would have fallen on my ass. My throat hurt, and I gasped hard for breath. The statue man was gone for now.

“Poor mug never stood a chance.”

Dean was looking down at the shattered remains of my cup, still holding onto my shoulders to balance me. He had only managed to get his underwear back on before my micro sleep nightmare. My brain seemed to skip a beat. The stone man strangling me was a dream. Dean standing here in his underwear while I remained naked was not a dream. It was real. We had actually fucked on my kitchen table. I had a second of insecurity, even though I knew that ship had sailed. I reached for my clothes and fumbled to get my underwear and jeans back on, trying to hide my blushing. The stress was rapidly returning to Dean’s face.

“That looked like like a rough one.”

“I lost my breath there for a minute, but I think they’re all going to be tough until it’s over.” 

His concerned look deepened. A bit of guilt crept into his expression.

“Should I do something? Can I get you anything? Is there something I can punch? I really hate that there’s nothing to punch. This dream crap is really hard to fight. I really hate having to just watch all of this happen to you. I just want to kill this son of a bitch already.”

Oh God, poor Dean. I hadn’t before thought about how maddening this must be for them, for him. He’s a fighter, and a hero type. He saves people, or fights for them to the end. He doesn’t sit around watching them slowly unravel and lose their marbles. It finally clicked for me that Dean actually really cares about me. He had developed some of the same feelings for me that I had for him. I probably should have realized this before the sex, but in my defense I thought it was just one of those things that happens in a dream. 

“Dean, you’ve done as much as anyone could do. You’ve kept me sane. You took me to the bunker, and helped solve the mystery, and made a plan to defend me. You’ve made me laugh, you’ve given me hope. Listen to me. No matter how tomorrow goes these last couple of weeks have been bearable, and even enjoyable because of you. You’ve given me quality of life. And this…”

I gestured over my shoulder at the mess

“Was fuckin fantastic. And the longest I’ve gone without seeing a statue in days. So thank you for that. I’d fight Phobetor with my bare hands for a chance to do it again, so keep that in mind if I live.”

He laughed and it sounded a little more relaxed again. I loved the laugh lines around his eyes. When he’s happy, I thought, He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Instead of staring I decided to finish getting dressed, and he followed suit. Fully clothed he went to retrieve some paper towels for the spilled coffee. When he returned I hugged him warmly. I wrapped my arms around him and held him tight for a moment. He held on to me too. 

At that moment Sam returned from his trip. He took in the spilled books, and the broken mug.

“What happened in here?”

“Earthquake” I answered.

“Vampire attack” Dean lied.

“Tornado.” I was giggling a little now, still feeling a little giddy.

“Bears” Dean answered very solemnly, which really set off my giggles.

Sam huffed a little, and seemed to accept that he wasn’t going to be getting an answer.

“Ok. Well. During your vampire bear natural disaster I managed to find one gold letter opener, so now I’ve got to go back out and kill a rooster before dark. I was hoping to get a lookout to come with me.”

I assured them I was fine and they left. While they were gone I alternated between cleaning up our mess and fighting off dream monsters. Once back they returned to scouring the lore and planning. As soon as the sun set two stone men appeared and stood on either side of me. They have not left my side since. If I am awake they mostly flank me and stare, but if I am asleep they attack. 

I have no idea how I got through the night. I tried to make Sam and Dean go to sleep, but they wouldn’t, and instead took shifts watching me all night. I’m sure it was a bizarre sight, as I spent the night huddled on the couch alternating between dozing, flailing, and screaming, and fighting creatures they could not see. Sometimes I would wake up and find Sam with his hand on my shoulder, or holding my hand. Sometimes I would wake up and find Dean holding me. 

The day time hasn’t been much easier. I think the monster’s technique is working too. I think I could be dragged away by a toddler right now. I’m exhausted and have spent much of the day the way I spent the night. Huddled on the couch trying to stay awake, knowing full well I have no control over my sleep anymore. I’m ready for this to end. I’m ready for an ending. I hope the Winchesters know how grateful I am to them. I hope they both know how much they’ve meant to me, and how much I value them. I hope Dean knows. 

 

HUNTER’S JOURNAL

11/21/2015

Not to spoil the ending, but here I am, breathing. 

To my disappointment, but not really surprise, it turns out their plan really was ‘wait for Phobetor to show up and then stab him.’ Also, to no one’s surprise the plan didn’t go that smoothly. 

Around the time of sunset Dean and Sam gathered their golden knives and stood guard near me. Much more comforting than the statues who were also standing guard. I sat on the couch and waited. The cave appeared in the side of my wall. I assume the wall moved to accommodate it, but I couldn’t quite make sense of it. When the cave opened the two stone men flanking me stood, dragged me into standing and held me still by my underarms. Evidently they were visible now, as Dean charged the nearest one and was swatted away easily. I think he would have made another attempt but at that moment Phobetor strode out. 

He stood in front of his cave, also flanked by two stone men. He was maybe a foot taller than his statue men. Instead of the black onyx he appeared to be made of lava. His ‘skin’ shifted and flowed as moving molten rock. His eyes and facial features were human-ish. I’ve always loved the look of lava, and I suspect I would have found him oddly beautiful in other circumstances. I should have found him terrifying, but I was so worn down I felt nothing.

The two stone men began dragging me toward him. Sam buried his knife into one of the men dragging me. It crumbled and fell into black sand. At least the knives worked. The other one kept dragging. As sam retrieved his knife Dean stabbed the other. Unsupported I simply crumpled to the ground and lay there passively observing the activity around me. 

Phobetor’s two henchmen advanced on Sam and Dean. It was clear they were more prepared for the gold knives, and had superior strength. Phobetor himself advanced on me. I saw Sam flung against the wall, crashing into and spilling some shelves. He lay there unmoving. Dean was hurled into the couch, flipping it. Phobetor bent down and picked me up and flung me over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. I was mildly surprised that his body was as cold and as hard as the statue men. He was carrying me toward his cave. 

“Fight, Damn It! Listen to me, you have to fight.”

I turned my head and saw Dean dragging himself out from under the couch. 

“Don’t let him do this to you! You have to try!” 

The two statue men had been following Phobetor but turned back to Dean. I had a terrible sense of certainty that they would kill him. I felt the letter opener in my pocket. The world was getting dimmer. I reached into my pocket, grabbed the letter opener and buried it between Phobetor’s shoulder blades. As I did this I realized the world was mostly black, and my view of my living room looked very far away. I had a small glimpse of Dean crawling out from the couch and away from the statue men. I could hear wind blowing through the cave. 

The letter opener buried to the hilt, but Phobetor did not crumble. He did drop me. I flailed thinking I would drop into the nothingness of the cave. Instead I ended up landing hard in my living room. Dean was backed into a corner holding a blade. Sam was stirring, but not yet fully with it. His blade lay close to me. I grabbed it and charged at the two remaining statues. 

More action than thought I simply jumped onto the back of the nearest statue and attempted to stab him. He flung me off easily and I landed near Sam. Luckily Sam was more or less alert. He crouched over me and I smiled at him and passed him the gold knife. My distraction had been minimally effective as it had allowed time for Dean to dust one of the two statues. Just in time for Phobetor to arrive with another. Two Winchesters against two statues and a God seemed almost a fair fight. 

A glint caught my eye. A gold necklace my grandmother had given me when I was little had fallen from the shelf when Sam hit it. I wrapped it around my knuckles and rubbed it in the blood from a cut on my forehead I assumed I got from being dropped by Phobetor or flung by the statue. I held my fist under a nearby lamp that had somehow survived and said a quick mental prayer to Helios.

Dear Helios. I know this isn’t a knife, or rooster blood. I know it’s nighttime, and I know we’re all seriously fucked, but if you bless this chain of gold I swear I will punch Phobetor in his horrible fucking face.

A statue grabbed my arm and dragged me up. Phobetor had Dean by the throat. His knife lay at his feet. Sam was backing into a corner holding his knife and facing off against the other statue. As the statue dragged me forward Phobeter dropped Dean gasping onto the floor. The statue let go of me and I fell at Phobetor’s feet. My eyes met Dean’s briefly. He was coughing and huddling on the ground, but he winked at me and was slowly reaching for his knife. 

I stayed hunched over, looking downcast. Phobetor bent down to reach for me. As soon as I could look him in the eye I leapt to my feet, uppercutting him on my way up. I’m pretty sure I broke at least one knuckle. Helios must have heard my prayer because while it didn’t seem to damage him much he did stumble backward. Where Dean was waiting. Dean Drove the knife through his back and into his heart. I saw the point of his blade pierce Phobetor’s chest. Phobetor let out an enraged howl. Cracks formed in his body. Magma poured out and turned to sand. He broke into pieces and melted to sand before me. The two remaining statues also disintegrated as well. The cave closed and vanished. All that remained was my trashed living room, Sam, Dean, and I bleeding and panting. Somehow we had all survived.

 

PERSONAL JOURNAL

11/21/2015

After Phobetor’s defeat I took in the mess. My head was pounding and I wasn’t sure my legs could hold me. 

“I’m going to take a hot shower and I’m going to bed. I’m going to sleep until tomorrow afternoon. You two had better still be here when I wake up.”

I pointed at both bleeding, bruised brothers.

“I mean it. I know where you live. You will be here when I wake up.”

Somehow I managed to stumble through my shower and found my way to bed. Some time after dark I rolled over and discovered Dean sleeping next to me. I threw an arm over his back and went back to sleep. I woke up in the afternoon sun the next day, and woke up alone. 

Feeling more refreshed than I felt in weeks I walked downstairs tentatively. It was quiet and I expected to find the house empty. Instead I found Sam stretched out on the couch reading, and Dean painting the wall where my shelves had hung before they were torn down by Sam’s body. The living room was almost completely restored. I should have known the Winchesters wouldn’t sleep in.

Sam hopped up, gave me a warm hug and kissed the top of my head. Dean carefully balanced his paintbrush on the edge of the paint can and headed for the kitchen. I sat on the arm of the couch and waited. Dean returned quickly with a fresh cup of coffee. As he handed it to me I grinned at him.

“I told you I would fight Phobetor with my bare hands.”

The look he gave me was full of promises. 

The conversation that followed was hard fought, but ultimately I won. It seems that the Winchester’s plan for me had been to teach me some identity fraud tricks and set me up with a private practice in some quiet suburb. Neither wanted to hear that I planned to pursue hunting. Sam tried to reason with me about the stresses of the life. The loneliness, the loss. Dean paced around the room occasionally yelling. He told me I had been lucky to survive. He told me better, stronger hunters die every day. Had I learned nothing from almost dying?

On the contrary. I learned that monsters eat people. That they sneak into houses and communities and dreams and they eat people’s loved ones. I believe in mental health. I believe in therapy, but basic Maslow teaches us that people can’t take care of their psyche if they’re being eaten. Every moment that I have had since last night was a moment given to me by hunters. Every day I have going forward is a day I wouldn’t have without hunters. I was going to hunt, with or without them.

Ultimately they relented, and are allowing me to return with them to the bunker. They’ve consented to let me read up on monsters in their library and to provide me with some training before I jump into hunting full time. Yes, I admit, I’ll probably die, but I’m determined to save at least one person before I do. The last of my life is going to be spent trying to save people from the fate my client faced. We leave in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it. That's all. I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> Please please remember that this is my first fic that isn't a 1,000 word crack fic for spncoldesthits, and my first smut of any kind, and I am VERY NERVOUS. If you have anything nice, or helpful to say, please say it, because I need to hear it.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is finished, but I'm posting it a chapter at a time over a few days. I promise it'll all be posted in a week or two. Definitely by November. 
> 
> Please remember I'm super new and leave me some love.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to Braezenkitty for Beta Reading for me, and also for being a sherpa on my uphill slog to finishing this thing. All quality content is because of her. All grammar errors, and, blatant, abuse, of commas, are me.


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